


In the Morning Light

by rustlight



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras Wearing Grantaire's Clothes, Fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Non sexual intimacy prompt, Oh, R has a Hangover but what's new?, That got out of hand, The Enjolras in his flat, and kissing, sfw, that's what's new, the morning after, unspoken feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 04:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17912057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustlight/pseuds/rustlight
Summary: Grantaire wakes up hungover and alone, which is nothing unusual, but he's sure someone else was with him the night before.If the red jacket on the floor is anything to go by, he's right.





	In the Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for @adorablecrab on Tumblr

It was barely even light when Grantaire began to wake. Groggy, head thick with not enough sleep and the first aches of a hangover at the corners of his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the empty space beside him in the bed. Not that it was unusual to wake alone - most of his mornings began this way after all - save for the quiet but insistent memory that he hadn’t fallen asleep that way. The memory of strong arms wrapped around him, warm breath on the back of his neck, of one night spent in the rapturous embrace of his sweetest reverie.

The mattress was still warm. He was being hopeful: the early sunlight illuminating the room in stripes of yellow gave off a little of it, had perhaps heated the sheets, and he’d been in the throes of yet another dream, seeping over into reality. Or worse still, his company had seen fit to leave before he woke without a note, or even a word, because Grantaire was not worth even that much to them. As it had been, so many times before.

Except there on the floor - not part of his own wardrobe. A red jacket.

A red jacket he would recognise anywhere.

Grantaire’s heart began to thunder in his chest at the implication.

With heavy, uncoordinated limbs he clambered out of the bed, almost tripping over himself as the stumbled to the bedroom door. If the jacket was here, then perhaps, perhaps.

Dressed in nothing but last night’s boxers, he opened the door to the living room slowly, as though what he found on the other side might shatter the illusion he was constructing in his mind. 

On first glance, the room looked empty. Grantaire’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach as he searched it. It was quiet enough that he could hear a distant car horn outside on the street and he would have given up the search immediately had it not been for the scent of coffee permeating the air, a light cloud of steam gathering above the stovetop kettle.

And then, a rustle of paper from beside him. Grantaire turned to find someone sat on his sofa, bundled up under one of his blankets.

Not just someone.

 _Enjolras_.

The night before returned to Grantaire in a rush, his tired mind clearing with every beat of his heart. The taste of Enjolras’ lips on his own. Fingers stroking gently through his hair, down his cheek, across his jaw, the look of fondness in those piercing blue eyes - god, he’d spent so many nights dreaming about those eyes. Stumbling back to Grantaire’s apartment in a fervour of drunken passion, and then to the bed, enthusiastically stripping out of their clothes only to lay beside each other for hours in whispered conversation, curled up as though they were made to fit together like two perfect shapes. Hesitant kisses as light as air planted all over his skin, his own hands playing with those seraphic curls, tracing freckles on Enjolras’ shoulders that he’d never have imagined were there. They’d fallen asleep in each others arms in a drunken bliss unlike any Grantaire had ever known.

And here he was, on Grantaire’s sofa. Knees pulled to his chest, blanket pooled around his waist, his long hair bundled into an extremely messy bun, glowing like a flame in the light of the rising sun. He was leafing through some papers on the coffee table, clutching a mug to his chest (one of his mugs, Grantaire’s mugs, with a silly little orange cat pattern all over it that looked like it belonged to Enjolras already) and wearing a Grantaire’s favourite green hoodie.

The hoodie swamped him, baggy around Enjolras’ much more slender frame. He had the sleeves pulled down so they were almost covering his hands, his chin nuzzled down into the neckline.

He hadn’t seen Grantaire in the doorway yet. He looked so comfortable and peaceful, and more beautiful than Grantaire had ever seen him in the sunshine pouring through the windows. He was loathed to move and disturb the perfect image before him, draw attention to himself. But here they were, and it was before 7am and they had kissed last night, something he never imagined would happen.

So he cleared his throat. 

“Enjolras..?”

Looking up from his papers, Enjolras met his gaze with wide eyes, lips quirking into a soft, tired smile. Grantaire had never seen him look so perfect.

Not an effigy of a god. Not a statue on a pedestal or an icon stood before a crowd. Just Enjolras, just as he was, the reality of him made bare to the morning sun.

“Morning,” Enjolras said, his voice laced with drowsiness. “I was going to bring you coffee before I realised the time.”

He motioned with his mug towards another one on the coffee table. A strand of hair fell loose around his face and Grantaire was overcome with the urge to tuck it back behind his ear.

Maybe he could now. It would have to be talked about, of course.

“It’s probably cold by now, sorry.” Enjolras dipped his chin back into the oversized hoodie, mumbling into the fabric when he spoke again. “Join me?”

Grantaire nodded and padded across the wooden floor, hesitating for just a moment before he sat beside him. The living room was colder than the bedroom but before he could complain, he found Enjolras shifting closer, draping the blanket over his lap too. 

Whatever he’d done right to earn this moment, Grantaire would give anything to keep it forever. He wasn’t a religious man but he would get down on his knees and pray if it gave him a chance to relive it even one more morning. He reached for the mug anyway. It was tepid, but he’d drink it anyway.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he said, for lack of knowing what else to say.

The corner of Enjolras’ smile peeked out from where he’d buried his face in the fabric. “It’s cold. Besides, can you blame me? It smells like you.”

Grantaire was sure his heart skipped a beat at those words. Perhaps more than one. Perhaps it had already stopped, and this was heaven.

“Last night,” he murmured. “We should talk…about what it means.”

He was scared to raise his voice, to ruin the moment. Any second now, Enjolras would realise he was better than this and he’d leave. He could take the hoodie if he wanted, Grantaire wouldn’t fight him on it.

Instead, Enjolras shifted closer once again until he was pressed into Grantaire’s bare side.

“I know,” Enjolras said softly, turning to face him. He studied Grantaire’s face for a moment before he spoke again. “Later, okay? This is nice.”

“Later is okay,” Grantaire breathed. What else could he say?

Enjolras leaned closer, falling short with just a breath between them, paused as though he wanted to ask first, but Grantaire pushed forward and pressed their lips together. 

Gently, just the ghost of a touch. Just to test the water.

Enjolras met the kiss with lazy enthusiasm, lips barely moving against Grantaire’s own and yet claiming them decisively. He tasted of coffee, mingled with morning after breath, but Grantaire didn’t mind at all.

Later, he reminded himself, as Enjolras broke the kiss, nuzzling into his shoulder as he took a sip from the cat mug. 

This was nice. Whatever happened later, Grantaire would always have this.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: @damnfinecupocoffee


End file.
